Harry Potter: A Better Beginning
by Salric
Summary: One person can change a world. Adding one character can change a story. WIP.


**Harry Potter: A Better Beginning**

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe__, and all characters, concepts, and locations in it, are the property of whoever currently owns their copyrights. Those persons do not include me. Neither I, nor any other party makes any profit or gain outside of personally enjoyment from this work of fanfiction._

_Author's Note: Much of this chapter is taken directly or indirectly from Chapter One of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_._

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**Prologue: The Boy Who Lived**

**November 1, 1981, 9:00 PM**

**Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England**

_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense._ [1]

Albus Dumbledore appeared on the corner of Privet Drive and Hedgerow Lane, suddenly and silently. As he was rummaging through his cloak, he looked up suddenly, as if realizing he was being watched, and chuckled as he saw a very familiar cat sitting on a wall. "I should have known," he muttered.

Finally finding his Deluminator, he clicked it twelve times to extinguish the street lamps, and set down off down the road until he reached number four, where he sat down on the wall next to his far-too-clever Transfiguration Professor. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall," he said, apparently speaking to a cat.

As she shifted back to her natural form, Minerva McGonagall looked distinctly ruffled. Dumbledore carefully kept his expression from shifting out of his usual small, grandfatherly smile. It would not do to offend Minerva by guffawing loudly at her irritation.

"How did you know it was me?" Minerva demanded.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." That wasn't the only way Dumbledore had known, but it _was_ true.

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said a somewhat peeved Minerva.

"All day?" Albus teased. "When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Her reply was interrupted by soft, barely audible crack as another person appeared on Privet Drive. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall immediately tensed, drawing their wands and moving off the wall. They relaxed when they realized that the person who came walking slowly out of the gloom had his hands free and empty.

Unlike Dumbledore and McGonagall, the young man was dressed in an immaculately tailored black suit that would have appeared perfectly normal to any casual passerby. His only concessions to eccentricity were the dark blue tie patterned with bird shapes and the odd-looking, slightly large lapel pin that bore a strange crest. His straight brown hair was perhaps a bit longer than was fashionable, but was neatly trimmed, and his dark green eyes seemed to peer at them out of the darkness. All this contributed to a sense of agelessness, before you looked at his face and realized that he couldn't be more than eighteen.

"Headmaster, Professor," he nodded. "Good to see you. Especially with…"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "It is good to see you as well, Alexander."

"Alexander Knight?" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. "I thought you had died! What…how…"

Knight smirked. "Rumors of my death, Professor, have been somewhat exaggerated." As she gaped at him, he returned to seriousness. "What with everything that happened last year, I simply withdrew. There was family business to take care of, and I needed time away from our world. Headmaster Dumbledore knew, of course, but you musn't blame him. I asked him to keep it quiet."

"Oh…" Professor McGonagall shook her head. "What are you doing here, Mr. Knight?"

"Following my instincts, Professor – I've heard some rumors, and I thought to myself, 'if they were true, what would Headmaster Dumbledore do?'"

Dumbledore smiled, genially. "Am I so predictable, then, Alexander?"

"If it makes you feel better, sir, this is the second place I looked for you – the first was at Longbottom Lane. Augusta Longbottom is throwing quite the party, but I wasn't in the mood."

"Oh yes," said McGonagall impatiently, "everyone's celebrating, all right. You'd think they'd be more careful, but even the Muggles have noticed something – it was on their news." She jerked her head towards the house they were standing near.

"Yes, I saw," said Knight, much to the others' surprise. "Shooting stars down in Kent – probably Dedalus Diggle. Showy and quite careless."

"You can't blame them," Dumbledore gently said. "We've had precious little to celebrate, these past eleven years."

"I know," replied McGonagall, "but that's no reason to lose our heads. People are out on the streets in broad daylight, not even bothering with Muggle clothes, swapping rumors. Careless. A fine thing it would be, if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore.

"For good?" interjected Knight.

"As to that, I do not know. I suspect not, unfortunately, but at the very least he is greatly weakened and without his physical body, so we have much to be thankful for. Would either of you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?" demanded McGonagall shrilly.

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"Yes please," said Knight.

"No, thank you," said McGonagall crossly. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone –"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_." McGonagall flinched as Dumbledore managed to unstick two lemon drops and hand one of them to Knight.

"I tend to call him 'Ol' Red-Eyes,' myself," said Knight. "Thank you, Headmaster, this is quite good. I've never seen a good reason to be frightened of using his name, but the gasps annoy me."

"I have never seen such a reason either, my boy."

Professor McGonagall sighed, shook her head, and shot a sharp look at Dumbledore. "That's not important. Have you heard the _rumors_ that are flying around? You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" She paused, but Dumbledore did not reply. "What they're _saying,_ is that last night You-Know…_Voldemort_ turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – _dead_."

Both Dumbledore and Knight bowed their heads. McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James…I can't believe it…I didn't want to believe it…Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore patted her on the shoulder. "I know…"

Knight nodded. "Yes…Lily and James…" He looked up "And Harry?" he asked. "I knew about Lily and James, but what happened to Harry? They're saying Voldemort tried to kill Harry, but that he couldn't, and that his power broke when he tried, and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded.

"It's – it's _true?_" Professor McGonagall asked, faltering. "After all he's done…"

"It worked then," murmured Knight. "Oh, Lily."

The other two looked at him sharply. "What worked?" demanded McGonagall.

"A protection charm I found in the Knight library." He sighed. "I gave it to Lily in July, at Harry's birthday. It…required a willing act of self-sacrifice by a blood relative. Lily…"

All three bowed their heads, and McGonagall dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Dumbledore pulled out his very odd watch, examining it, and said "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, Professor?"

"Yes. I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ here, of all places?"

"Vernon and Petunia Dursley are Harry's aunt and uncle," said Knight. "Petunia is the only close blood relative he has left on his mother's side. The protection will last for a long time if he lives with her."

"You _can't_ mean – Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"Not a good idea, Headmaster," said Knight. "I agree, this is the best place for him…but I know Vernon and Petunia better than you do."

"These people will never understand him, Dumbledore!" said McGonagall. "He'll be famous, a legend, there will be books written about him –"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk, for something he won't even remember! It will be better for him to grow up away from all that until he's ready to take it."

"How is he getting here, Headmaster?" asked Knight anxiously. "I still think…"

"Hagrid's bringing him."

A low rumbling sound broke the silence as a huge motorcycle landed on the road in front of them. Rubeus Hagrid sat upon it, holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, relief evident in his voice. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," replied the giant man as he carefully dismounted. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

Knight's face went hard. "Black..." he muttered. "He didn't try to stop you, Hagrid?"

"Why bless m'soul, if it isn't Alexander Knight. Thought you was dead." Hagrid shook his head. "No, Sirius didn' do anythin' ter stop me. Said Dumbledore'd do right by 'Arry."

"And there were no other problems?" inquired Dumbledore.

"No, sir – house was almost destroyed, but I got him out right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Knight bent forward over the bundle of blankets in Hagrid's arms. Inside, just visible, was one-year-old Harry Potter, sleeping quietly. Under the tuft of black hair over his forehead, they could see the curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where –?" whispered McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't," replied the Headmaster. "Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here, Hagrid – we'd best get this over with."

"Hang on, Professor Dumbledore," Knight interjected. "While I agree that Harry ought to go to Petunia, I say again that I know her and Vernon better than you do. They're not fond of surprises. Besides, sleeping on a doorstep in November is _not_ good for a small child."

"Hmm," replied Dumbledore. "What, then, do you suggest?"

"Ah…" Knight thought for a moment. "I have it!" Touching his lapel pin, he closed his eyes and softly called, "Milly!"

With a soft pop, a house-elf appeared. "Yes, Master Alex? What can Milly be doing for you?"

"Milly, please fetch one of the automobiles – the Bentley, I think – from my father's collection and bring it here. Put it in the street here."

"Yes, sir!" The little creature bowed, and popped away. A little less than a minute later, she reappeared in the street next to a perfectly normal black Bentley. "Is that being all, Master Alex?"

"Yes, Milly, thank you." As his house-elf popped away again, Knight turned to his companions. "I'll park the car, and stay here in it the rest of the night with Harry. In the morning, I'll knock on the door and explain things to Vernon and Petunia. Is that acceptable, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Yes, that should work, Alexander. Mind that you park as close to the Dursley residence as you can, though – the closer Harry is to Petunia, the stronger the protections will be, even before she takes him in."

"Of course, sir," said Knight. "Hagrid? May I?" Hagrid nodded, and Knight carefully took Harry in his arms.

"Could I – could I say goodbye to him, Alex?" asked Hagrid. He bent his head over Harry and gave him a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, he let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"Sorry," sobbed Hagrid, burying his face in his handkerchief. "I can't stand it – Lily an' James dead, an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," whispered McGonagall, patting her large friend on the arm as Knight stepped over to the Bentley and gently laid Harry on the passenger seat before getting in. The car started with a quiet purr, and he carefully parked it in front of number four before getting out again.

The four of them stood there for a full minute, before Dumbledore finally spoke. "Well," he said, "that's that. Thank you, Alexander. Rubeus, Minerva, we've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Before you go, could I have that letter you wrote, Headmaster?" asked Knight. In response, Dumbledore took an envelope out of his cloak and handed it to Knight.

"I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back," said Hagrid, sniffling. "G'night, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Alex."

After Hagrid had gone flying off into the night, Dumbledore nodded. "Good luck, Alexander. You'll be in touch?"

"I'll send you a letter in the next few days, Headmaster."

"Good, good."

As they watched Knight return to the Bentley, Dumbledore nodded to his companion. "I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall." She blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street, stopping on the corner to click the Deluminator and relight the street lamps. He could clearly see the Bentley parked in front of number four and could just make out the tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. "Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

In the car, Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. Smiling sadly at him, Alexander Knight quietly settled himself on his side and drifted off to sleep. Neither could know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!"

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[1]From _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, p. 1_


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